No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

Chapter 161

I never imagined I'd catch Ernest just out of the shower.

You know, the classic just-a-towel-wrapped-around-the-waist scene, revealing just enough to get the imagination racing. Ernest froze too, clearly not anticipating my sudden intrusion. I could even see his tan skin flush a deep shade of red.

For a moment, we just stood there, locked in a silent stand-off, as if time itself had paused. It wasn't until Ernest regained his composure and retreated to his bedroom that I managed to move, swallowing hard, suddenly aware of the heat in my cheeks.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

As I watched Ernest's bedroom door close, knowing he was getting dressed, I blurted out, "Ernest, hold off on getting dressed for a sec, wait for me."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how they must've sounded. I asked him to stay undressed and wait for me... In any other context, my words would've been fine, but here and now? I'd basically dropped a bomb.

If there was a hole to crawl into, I would've jumped right in. But it was too late for regrets. I quickly picked up the clothes I bought for him and went back to his room, knocking softly.

"Ernest, I got you some clothes. They're by the door. These might be a better fit for you."

I didn't bother explaining my earlier comment; it would only make things more awkward.

Just as I was about to set the bag down, the bedroom door swung open, and there stood Ernest, impeccably dressed. White shirt, black dress pants, no tie, with the top two buttons undone - formal, yet effortlessly cool. This was the first time I'd seen him like this. I'd always thought his darker complexion wouldn't suit such attire, hence the more casual options I'd picked out for him.

But now, seeing him, I realized how off my judgment had been. He had this understated, luxurious vibe about him that left me speechless. His fingertips brushed against mine as he took the bag, peeking inside, "This is what you thought I'd like?"

I shook my head, "No, you look great as is."

Ernest glanced back at the bag, "I'll wear what you picked out next time." With a natural ease, he stored the clothes in his wardrobe, while I. stood frozen at the doorway, my gaze inadvertently landing on his meticulously made bed.

The old house didn't offer much space, and his bed, taking up two-thirds of the room, was made so perfectly it demanded a salute.

Ernest, done with the clothes, announced, "We can go now."

But I couldn't resist commenting, "Ernest, do you have OCD?"

He looked puzzled.

I gestured towards his bed, "You're not in the military anymore. Why bother making your bed so precisely? Seems like a lot of effort for nothing." "It's just a habit," he replied succinctly.

"I think it's OCD," I argued, knowing all too well how hard it is to break free from certain routines. He didn't deny it, merely suggesting it might be true.

Then, when he saw the gift I had brought for Herschel, he offered to carry it.

I smiled gently. "That's okay, I've got it."

et

"But I don't let my girlfriend carry things," Ernest insisted, his fingers brushing against mine again as he took the gift box. Feeling a slight shiver, I let go.

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As we were leaving, recalling the awkwardness of walking in on his shower earlier, I couldn't help but ask, "Why don't you lock the door when you get